


Rue

by theLiterator



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-20
Updated: 2010-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-12 01:39:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLiterator/pseuds/theLiterator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zevran/Warden, remembering his last mission</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt over at [](http://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**fic_promptly**](http://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org/) on Dreamwidth.

Rinna. Zevran watched Aedan carefully as he told, everything spilling out, rough and uneven and not enough background, a gallows confession of sorts.

His Warden knew, or thought he knew, who Zevran was, what he had been. This, though-- this was what being a Crow meant. Ferelden had no guilds, had no idea the degree of personal commitment required.

Fereldans, with their emphasis and conviction in the right to _choose_ where one's loyalty lay, would never understand.

He told anyway.

The Warden shifted in his armor as Zevran told, watching Zevran equally carefully.

"Do you still want to die?" he asked, as if it were that simple. When one is a slave, Zevran thought escape and death are equal. When one is free, the question becomes harder to answer.

He considered, well aware of the focused scrutiny of the Warden.

"No," he said at last. "No. What I want is to begin again."

Aedan smiled at that, still dark and grim, but Zevran felt like he had answered the question correctly.

Aedan did not ask him if he had loved Rinna, and for that, Zevran was grateful. He did not know the correct answer to that question.

As if to stave off such questions, or perhaps their answers, Zevran moves forward, tilting his head invitingly, lowering his lashes and licking his lips, careful seduction.

Aedan's smile softens, strengthens into something more and less than it was before, and he kisses Zevran.

It is like picking a lock, seduction. The proper key or a skilled lockpick carefully aligning the pins until the tumblers fall free, and the lock opens.

Use the wrong key, twist the pick too hard, and the lock breaks.

As Aedan eased him out of his clothes, Zevran wondered whether he was the key, or the lock.


End file.
